Jesse Jagz’s ‘My Brother’ is a timeless, ageless musical piece
...better late than never real view
"Inevitably, hip hop records are treated as though they are disposable. They are not maximized as [a] product, not to mention as art." – Harry Allen.
Released a decade ago, ‘My Brother’, a concept, poignant song off Jesse Jagz's underrated, crowd-friendly debut Jagz of All Tradez, is a letter to three brothers. Long forgotten by many, the song is one of the cleverly-written, well-produced, and delivered rap songs in Nigeria. Almost lost forever, the song is not dated but present: It exudes a fervent desire to change society and fosters humanism. Its simplicity and profundity are marvellous. Its lush soundscape coupled with Eve's whimpering chorus makes the song gripping. With a narrative mastery of an adroit griot, Jesse Jagz seamlessly interpolates the past with the present, admonishing us to shun violent disorder and embrace love.
Musically and lyrically, the song is a grand piece: it’s a textbook example of what a conscious rap song should be. And though it’s neglected, it remains one of the best hip hop screeds in Nigeria: It becomes more relevant to the context of our present condition of despair and disrepair. The rich usage of imagery makes the verses feel as though they are written as soundtracks for our lives. And truly they are soundtracks for our lives through these unfathomable, trying, wearying times. It captures our fears, angst, and uncertainties caused by this disaster-laden year.
A song of three verses, the verses ethos is to open our eyes to the woeful plight of the Black American, the negative effect of enmity and disintegration in a country, and the damaging effects of fighting and killings. Since its release ten years ago, a series of sordid events have proven and are still proving the song’s potency and social import.
In the spirit of Pan-Africanism in the opening verse, Jesse Jagz travels back in time and introduces us to a brother that was taken to another country, while also evoking the racial and White Supremacy element that’s destroying the Black American. “Same country, same city, same home,” he raps. “Same blood, same flesh, [and] same bone / At the break of the day, he got taken away / Given a new name…” Though he didn't tell us the country the brother was taken to, careful listening to the song reveals that the brother was taken to America as a slave, he was given a new name, identity, and culture. Years after years of living in his new country, he is disdained, and treated as an outcast, despite his contribution to the growth and development of his country. He is harassed now and then and his children are beaten and gunned down by racist police officers. Though he is fed up, he couldn’t retrace his way back to his country of birth. He resigns himself to fate, enduring the unfavourable life in his new country. And though he is far away and dejected, his brother at home still remembers him all the time, he celebrates his success and failure, his living and death, because when one of us succeeds, we all succeed; when one of us hurts, we all hurt.
Some recent sordid incidences attest to the verse’s attribute. Black Americans are experiencing heightened racial discrimination, police brutality, and legal injustice from the American legal system. Some instances are the recent murder of Hamad Aubrey, Brenon Taylor, and George Floyd, to name a few. These deaths escalate the agitation to end the killing of Black Americans, hence the upholding and intensification of the #BlackLivesMatter protest. Sadly, despite all the protests to end Police Brutality, many Black Americans are still being maimed and killed by racist police officers. However, I’m not sure the killing will stop. “The constant attacks on poor people, on black people, those systems are still here,” says the American filmmaker Ryan Coogler, while addressing the press on his latest produced film Judas and The Black Messiah, a film about the betrayal and assassination of Fred Hampton, chairman of the Black Panther Party, by some racist Chicago Policemen. “We’re still fighting the same beast; we’re still fighting the same monsters, we’re still fighting the same system, you know, they haven’t gone anywhere.”
Despite the occasional spirit of Pan-Africanism, it’s obvious that the Black Americans and the people in Africa have their differences—cultural, religious, and social-political. There are some scenarios where they battle it out on Twitter, haranguing one another on whose lifestyles and cultures are better. Jesse Jagz hints at the differences but pushes for unity. “Despite our present differences, we could be united.” For one, the line above—a succinct, impressive snapshot of the socio-phobia of some Black Americans, and how ignorant they are about Africa—illustrates the regular tropes played by some Black Americans, and how they downplay their connection to a ‘home’ they never really know, just to fit into the America that doesn’t recognize their right to exist; and whenever they acknowledge Africa as the place their ancestors came from, their ignorant becomes glaring. It’s either they call it a country or they fetishize it as a rural vast land where people live on trees and must be saved from endless tribal wars and diseases. For another, many Africans believe that Black Americans have no right, whatsoever, to represent Africa in their music, movies, or art. They judge such acts as deceitful, a ploy to exploit Africans.
If the opening verse addresses the brother that was taken away to a foreign land and tries to reconcile his offspring with that of his brother at home, the second verse looks homeward. It addresses the other brother at home, who engages in insensible fighting and killing. Lightly set against the backdrop of tribal, religious, and political tussle, Jesse Jagz admonishes the brother at home to embrace love and live together as one. “We keep acting as though it ain’t together we grow,” he raps midway through the verse. “We keep fighting over inheritance… The war we fight is making us poor/ Our bodies and souls are aching and sore.”
The lyrics quoted above succinctly capture the defect in our society. (Its truthfulness can’t be disputed.) Many states in Nigeria have experienced (still experiencing) tribal and religious crises. These crises have destroyed and still destroyed villages and towns and mostly resulted in the deaths of innocent people. Also, there is an insurgency in the Northeast, which destroys lives and properties, where the Boko Haram terrorist group kidnapped schoolgirls in Chibok and later Dapchi, and the gruesome butchering of farmers in Maiduguri. Having been marginalized and treated as inconsequential, the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB) are stepping up their agitation to secede from Nigeria. But the Nigerian government wouldn’t allow them to secede, hence the occasional protest that often results in discords between the group and the police. Their agitation has also led to the destruction of lives and properties. Moreover, issues of land grabbing and disputes are rife in the media. Most often there are cases of land disputes between farmers and cattle herders in some Northern States.
There is police brutality, too. Some weeks ago, a group of well-meaning Nigerian youths took to the street to protest the extrajudicial killing of Nigerian youths, especially the self-made ones, who are always profiled as scammers or fraudsters by the Nigerian Police, particularly the police rogue unit called SARS (Special Anti-Robbery Squad). And, to the surprise (and chagrin) of everyone, instead of a diplomatic endgame, some soldiers allegedly massacred the peaceful protesters at the Lekki Tollgate in Lagos. Likewise, some youths at Oyigbo, Port-Harcourt, were maimed and killed for protesting; yet the governors in those states refuse to acknowledge these killings, nor bring the perpetrators to book, instead, they are witch-hunting those they perceived spearheaded the #EndSARS protest. President Muhammad Buhari's speech and his refusal to acknowledge these incidences exacerbate the situation.
Fascinating and inducing coda, the third verse addresses the ‘brothers’ under the same record label. As though wise to what is coming, Jesse Jagz heralds Chocolate City break up, before the label broke up, before his elder brother MI Abaga penned the emotive ‘Brother’ to chronicle the break up. Before Chocolate City broke, Mo Hit, one of the leading recording labels in the country, dissembled and its artists were throwing a subtle shot at one another. Similarly, the defunct P-Square records, comprising the identical twin brothers Peter and Paul Okoye and their elder brother Jude Engees Okoye, broken up due to “lopsidedness in individual input on their joint albums” and some risible reconcilable family issues. Despite all the talk about love and oneness, it seems Jesse Jagz can’t practice what he preaches. Citing creative differences as one of the reasons for his departure from Chocolate City, Jesse left the label to start his label, Jagz Nation, where he would have the creative freedom to do the kind of music he wants. Truly he did have the freedom he craved, and the freedom birthed a couple of fascinating albums with the freshness of sound, devoid of musical cliché. Though he rejoined Chocolate City in 2015, as a tortured artist (hello Jean-Michel Basquiat), he departed from the label again to follow his muse (so much for love and oneness). Despite the clamour for love and peace, nothing has changed. So, what’s oneness when there are so many differences, a mirage?
As a rapper, Jesse Jagz has always been a cut above some of his colleagues: he is a brilliant rapper and a wordsmith, a genre-bender and music patternmaker, one of the few Nigerian rappers who care so much about their lyrics and delivery. He is a rebel at heart, a rebel at large: his post-Chocolate City albums are far-removed from the campiness of the Nigerian music scene. Even on his latest five-track offering GARBA, he still keeps the flame burning. And as he once rapped on ‘The Greatest: “You can love or hate this, but it doesn’t matter to me 'cos I'm the greatest." That might sound like the regular vain and empty boasting that's peculiar to rappers, but it’s not. A decade after he said those words, and though he was absent from music for a longer period, his colourful, impressive discography still proves that he is an astute rapper whose body of work would forever remain brilliant and relevant to the Nigerian hip hop scene.